Chapter Eight: A Fly on the Wall

Keyleth shook her head as she and Pike made their way back toward Whitestone Castle. "Father Tharivol's kind of a dick, isn't he?" she muttered.

Pike giggled. "Yeah, he sure is. Oh, no, Lord de Rolo saved us all and left the city in good hands, he's such a terrible person," she mocked, imitating his gravelly voice and posh accent. "He seriously needs to get over himself." As she looked up at Keyleth, her smile faded. "Anyway, what had you all freaked out in there?"

"Freaked out? I wasn't freaked out," Keyleth protested. "Just caught off guard, that's all."

"By the Fire Ashari that Sister Deora mentioned?"

Keyleth nodded, looking troubled. "Yeah. It was weird."

"What was weird about it?" Pike asked.

"Well, the whole… point, I guess, the mission, the purpose of the Ashari tribes is that we protect the places where the Elemental Planes encroach on this one," Keyleth said with a shrug. "We hardly ever leave our lands. It's hard to protect a place when you're not there."

"You left."

Keyleth sighed and gritted her teeth. "Sure, for my Aramenté. But that's only one person per tribe per generation. The chance of crossing paths with someone else on theirs?" She shook her head again. "I don't know. I guess it isn't impossible. But Cerkonos—the current Flamespeaker—isn't that old. It's not time for Pyrah to be preparing another Headmaster."

"Well, maybe she ran away?" Pike offered. "Sister Deora made her sound pretty young. Could be a case of teenage angst."

"Maybe," Keyleth said, sounding unconvinced. "But Pyrah is a long, long way from here. And I don't like the timing, either. Right before The Righteous started making noise?" She slammed her staff into the ground in frustration with each step she took. "It's too much coincidence."

The implications of that were… concerning. "But why would a Fire Ashari—or any Ashari, for that matter—want to stir up trouble in Whitestone?"

"Ugh, I don't know!" Keyleth cried. "None of the tribes care who rules where. None of us ever had a problem with the de Rolos or anyone else, as long as they left us alone. Which they did!" Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze fell to the ground at her feet. "It just doesn't make any sense."

Pike could only shrug helplessly. "We only have a few pieces of this puzzle," she offered. "Maybe the others found something that can start to fill in the gaps."

"Yeah," Keyleth said softly. "I hope so."

Percy paced back and forth across the study as he waited for Captain Garron to return. His shoulder still burned—not surprising, given the raw, angry scar he'd seen when he'd changed out of his torn and bloody shirt. Vex's spell had kept him from bleeding out then and there, but clearly some damage remained. Perhaps he'd ask Pike to take a look at it later. But there was work to do right now, which would serve to take his mind off the lingering discomfort if only Garron would show up already.

He gritted his teeth as he glanced at the clock on the desk for what felt like the hundredth time. The constant, steady ticking of its mechanisms grated on his nerves like sand. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as the need to do something grew ever more urgent.

Where in the Nine bloody Hells was Garron? How long could it possibly take to—

He jumped as a knock finally sounded at the door. Straightening his coat with a tug, he cleared his throat and called out, "Enter."

"Lord Percival, sir," said Garron as the door closed behind him. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did." But as Garron began to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk, Percy snapped, "You will stand at attention when your Lord is speaking to you, Captain."

Garron snapped upright in an instant, surprise flashing across his face for a fleeting moment before military discipline wiped it blank. "Y-yes, milord. My apologies," he replied. "Your lady sister runs a more relaxed—"

"In case you haven't noticed, I am not my sister," Percy retorted. "And I'm not feeling especially inclined to be relaxed at the moment."

"Yes, milord. I-I'm sorry, milord."

"Dawnfather's mercy. I only said stand at attention. Don't fucking fawn." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding headache that threatened. "Forgive my language. It's been a… trying day."

"I understand, mil—sir," Garron corrected himself at Percy's baleful glare.

"To business, then." Percy took a deep breath and sat behind the desk, trying to ignore how big it felt. This wasn't Father's desk anymore, it was his. And he wasn't ten years old anymore, sneaking in here on a dare to hide frogs in the drawers. He was the Lord of Whitestone, with all the duties and responsibilities that title entailed.

He smoothed out a piece of parchment and dipped a quill in an inkpot. "Captain Garron," he began, "I would like you to explain to me, in detail, the recent failures of the Pale Guard."

Garron blinked, his face flushing angrily as he kept his eyes focused on a point somewhere above Percy's head. "My Lord!"

"The security of Whitestone Castle falls under your purview, does it not?" Percy asked sharply. "Please tell me exactly how that security has been penetrated not once, but twice within a week's time, resulting in attacks that threatened Vex'ahlia, Vax'ildan, and myself, and left my sister at death's door." Despite his best efforts, the last few words came out in a low growl.

"The matter is still under investigation, sir," said Garron stiffly. "I fear I have few leads at this time. But I swear to you, I shall not rest until I have found the breach and sealed it. And I will keep you apprised every step of the way."

Percy nodded once. "See that you do."

He'd fully intended to interrogate Garron further, to pick apart his investigation in detail and take notes for later study. But a wave of exhaustion crashed over him, and he let the pen fall from his fingers, a small droplet of ink splattering on the parchment, as he slumped back in his chair. The warm lamplight of the study suddenly speared harsh and bright into his head. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, then looked back up at Garron's now slightly blurry figure. "You're dismissed for now, Captain," he sighed.

"My Lord." Garron gave a slight bow, turned on his heel, and marched toward the door.

Damn it, Percival, you're being an ass. Before Garron could leave, Percy called out to him again, more gently. "Balthazar."

Garron froze, then turned back to face him. "Sir?"

"That was quite the clever trick back there, with the faerie fire." Percy gave him a small and weary smile. "You saved my life; that did not go unnoticed. Thank you."

Garron nodded once, and left.

A small hand caught the door before it could close again, and Scanlan slipped in, his face lighting up in exaggerated delight when he saw Percy. "There you are!" he exclaimed, entirely too loudly. He stuck his head back out the door. "I found him, guys!"

A derisive snort preceded Vax and the others into the study. "I told you he'd be here, Scanlan."

"Yeah, and I confirmed it," Scanlan replied, unfazed. He strolled up to the desk and gave a mock salute. "Vox Machina reporting in, Lord de Rolo."

Percy groaned. "Don't do that, please."

"Okay." Scanlan hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk instead, and Percy couldn't summon the energy to object. Vex and Vax flopped into the two chairs, leaving Pike, Keyleth, and Grog standing. "Now that we're all back from our fact-finding missions, who wants to go first? No one? Okay, I'll start. I"—Scanlan produced a scrap of parchment and twisted around to present it to Percy with a flourish—"have been recruited."

"Recruited?" Percy put his glasses back on and took the paper from Scanlan's hand. "'The radiance of the dawn shall shine forth from the righteous and illuminate the darkened soul.' Well. That's interesting."

"What does it mean?" Keyleth asked.

Percy frowned. "It's from In the Sun Father's Hand, a text largely considered apocryphal by the clerics of Pelor. It's a bit unorthodox, and rather… pointedly anti-establishment, to put it delicately. I can't say I'm surprised a group like The Righteous would draw their inspiration from it." He looked up at Scanlan. "Who gave this to you? What are you supposed to do with it?"

"Her name was Ray Dances," said Grog dreamily. "She was real pretty."

"Radiance, Grog. Her name was Radiance," Scanlan corrected him. To Percy, he continued, "She told me to go to the Sun Tree and say it to people there until I find someone who knows what it means. Then I'm in!" He adjusted his beret ostentatiously. "Scanlan the Revolutionary is back, baby!"

"We're trying to prevent a revolution this time, Scanlan," said Vex with a scowl.

Eyes wide, Scanlan laid a hand on his chest in a performatively offended gesture. "Of course! I'll be our inside man. Our spy. Our fly on the wall—literally, if need be."

"That's… not a bad idea, actually," Pike mused. "What do you think, Percy?"

It took Percy a moment to realize she'd addressed him. Everyone's voices seemed to come from far away, understanding following long after sound. He blinked at their blurred faces and reached for his glasses—only to belatedly remember he was already wearing them. Bloody hells, he must be more tired than he thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a hoarse croak. A low fire spread through his veins, radiating out from his wounded shoulder and creeping into his head, tunnelling into his brain until his vision grayed.

He blinked again, and suddenly Vex and Pike were right there in front of him, eyes wide and full of fear. "Percy, darling, can you hear me?" Vex pleaded.

The warm hand on his face was probably hers. Percy leaned into it as darkness took him.